


Akashi wasn't depressed.

by cbtothekk



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, Major Character Injury, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24408277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cbtothekk/pseuds/cbtothekk
Summary: Kuroko visited him every day after practice. He had perfected his technique, apparently. Couldn’t wait until Akashi could come to their games again. He never mentioned playing with Akashi again. Akashi knew what that meant.
Relationships: Akashi Seijuurou/Kuroko Tetsuya
Comments: 4
Kudos: 54





	Akashi wasn't depressed.

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't beta'd or anything, i dont even know if it ends nicely or not. Im just depressed and projecting. I'm also fucking getting back into haikyuu, mystic messenger and u guessed it; kuroko no basket. oops.

It was bad. The injury, it was bad. Akashi’s leg had metal rods sticking out of it, strategically placed to keep the bones still, and a white cast.

It was elevated off the blank, cold sheets of the hospital bed. He couldn’t really remember why, had been too busy committing the peach tones of the sky around the setting sun to memory, but the doctor’s expression had been serious as he informed one of his father’s assistants of the damage. He remembered that, at least. Midorima’s father.

The pain kept him from sleeping. They had medications constantly dripping down into his iv, but the throbbing never stopped. Even as he stared into the unique shapes and dents of the ceiling, the throbbing persisted.

Kuroko visited him every day after practice. He had perfected his technique, apparently. Couldn’t wait until Akashi could come to their games again. He never mentioned playing with Akashi again. Akashi knew what that meant.

He refused his visits after that, preferring to recover in solitude, with the occasional check-up from a nurse.

They had made a special wheelchair for him. A place for his leg to stay elevated, armrests, a cup holder, the whole deal. His father spared no expense. No, he probably didn’t care for the recovery process. Now that he couldn’t play any longer, he would have more time to study, to practise the violin. To ready himself to follow in his father’s footsteps.

Akashi didn’t step foot inside a gymnasium for the rest of that school year.

He pretended not to notice. The longing looks from his old teammates. The pity from the rest of the student body, having heard that the incredible first-year captain of the basketball team had suffered from an injury that stalled his sporting career forever. It was easy to ignore the stares. Less easy when that stare was from a worried blue-eyed shadow.

Akashi wasn’t depressed. He was mourning the loss of the only thing that kept him going since his mother passed, of course he would be down. But he wasn’t depressed.

(He was.)

Wouldn’t his father find this situation hilarious… Akashi Seijuurou his prodigy son. Sitting in a pool of his own blood. Akashi knew it wasn’t funny, but he couldn’t help but crack a smile as he drew yet another line up the length of his arm, blade sinking deeper and deeper and deeper and deeper and deeper and—nothing.

When Akashi woke up in a hospital bed once again, he wondered if he had time travelled. But no, his legs were free to the cool air that blew in from the crack in the window. His arms however, were bandaged so thickly and tightly that they couldn’t hope to sense the temperature of the room.

He had failed. It was almost comical, how angry he was at himself for failing. Akashi’s weren’t allowed to fail, yet here he was. Broken and alone. He screamed, he cried, and he thrashed in the arms of the nurses who held him to the bed, sobbing as the needle pierced his skin.

Kuroko visited him again, and the situation was familiar. This time, he didn’t sit on a chair, but right next to Akashi on the bed. He took Akashi’s hand in his own but did not speak. Akashi couldn’t muster the strength to pull away. (Even if he could, he wouldn’t.)

Akashi knew Kuroko wasn’t coping. Could tell by the hollowed bruises that lay under his eyes, by the dullness of his skin and the way he was so _thin_. But Kuroko had basketball. Kuroko had basketball and he was _wasting it_.

Akashi told him so and even when he bashed his hands against Kuroko’s chest and spat words laced with venom, Kuroko held him. Kuroko held him until his cries were null and his breathing was so calm and slow that Kuroko almost thought he was asleep. But he knew better, so he held onto him until light began filtering through the curtains and small, content, snores were coming from Akashi.

The scars were ghastly. He was ashamed of them. Kuroko didn’t tell him they were beautiful, kiss them or anything so clichéd. But he did tell Akashi that he shouldn’t be ashamed of them, because the Akashi _he_ knew would never lower his head for something so menial. Akashi couldn’t contain his groan when Kuroko compared them to battle scars.

He wasn’t wrong, but he should be.

Akashi didn't like visitors. But Kuroko could stay. Even if just for a little while. 


End file.
